Guardian Angels
by classtiel
Summary: With Sam and Jessica gone, legal guardians Dean, Cas, and Gabriel have to learn how to be a family again in order to raise the couple's only child, Amy. Main ship is Dean/Cas, but there's other stuff too.
1. Chapter 1

"_Sometimes I think it would be better if you were never here in the first place, man." _

When Dean says it, he has no idea that it's the last thing Sam ever hears him say. Four years pass and Sam calls on Christmas and birthdays, but Dean never picks up the phone. He deletes the messages and blocks the e-mails. Cutting Sam out of his life is the easy part.

Realising that he can never let him back in, no matter how hard he wishes, prays, fucking _begs_, is the hard part.

After Jessica calls with the news, Dean tries desperately to get the e-mails back. His number gets blacklisted by his own phone company when he tries to retrieve the messages, to hear Sam's voice one last time. But he has nothing. All the pictures are gone. All the videos are gone. He deleted them long ago.

When he realises that there's no point in keeping his laptop if Sam isn't somewhere on it, he throws it in the pool and watches it crackle.

When he tries to go back to his mechanic shop, he remembers that Sam helped him buy it, and he just stops coming.

When he takes the Impala to go to the store and sees the initials carved into the back door, he drives into a barn.

He had been planning on buying rope.

The farmer tries to sue him for killing his prize pig, but the court deems Dean unfit to stand trial and sentences him to six months of in-patient therapy. It doesn't really help. He lies through his teeth to avoid jail and is released early for 'making progress' because all he wants is out. In the ward, he can't hurt himself. If he does, they restrain him. He can't overdose, he can't crash, he can't get high or go into the woods and kill things. Their methods of help consist of not dying, and he's not sure he wants that.

But when he finally gets home again, he almost misses the hospital. There were no real responsibilities there. People fed him, clothed him, didn't expect him to pay any bills or get the mail. Here he doesn't know why he's still alive so he acts like he's dead, except for the short bursts of anger and regret and pain with no name that overtake him like seizures when he's alone with his thoughts. So he buys some beer, gets his prescription, and takes showers that burn his skin and rack up the electricity bill that he can't pay.

He sleeps in the living room, his only company the television. He hasn't gone up the stairs in a month. He's forgotten what colour the ceiling is and every time he thinks about it, all he can think is that Sam had helped him paint that room long ago. So he tries his hardest not to think about anything. The beer helps.

The first time he hears the phone, he thinks it's the TV. His mind hardly registers it. But when he hears the same tone the next day at the exact same time, he manages to think _maybe._ It takes three more days of ringing at six o'clock on the dot for him to finally drag himself off of the floor and check the messages.

"_Hello Dean. I apologize for not leaving a message sooner. I thought-… There's something we need to discuss. Please call me back as soon as possible." _

He hasn't touched the phone in weeks and it's covered with a fine layer of dust, but the numbers he can make out send a hot, acidic feeling up his throat and make his stomach seize.

_Castiel. _

It's the last call he receives. It takes him another two days to acknowledge it, to fully wrap his mind around it, and three more days to pick up the phone. So he waits until six o'clock, takes one or two or ten Valium, and then dials the number. His fingers shake.

"Dean?"

When Castiel answers- actually answers- he has to put the phone down and stare at the wall for a few seconds, trying his hardest not to think about anything at all. When he's ready, he puts the phone back by his ear and speaks the first word he's said to Castiel in five years.

"Yeah."

Castiel is patient. He's slow and he's careful and he's tense. He asks how Dean is, but Dean doesn't answer. He then sighs, and tells Dean he's sorry. Dean snorts. Castiel doesn't comment, only pauses before he goes on.

"I told you we needed to discuss something," he says, and there's a thinly disguised sense of bitterness in his voice. "I assume you are aware of the terms of Sam and Jessica's will."

He is. "What does that have to do with anything."

Castiel pauses. "I have some bad news, Dean."

Dean waits because there's nothing else he can do.

"Jessica is dead."

Dean's mouth goes dry and he swallows.

"She took her own life," Castiel says gravely. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this over the phone but her death brings up a more serious matter." But Dean already knows what the phone call is about. With all this talk of wills and Jessica's death and seeing as how Sam was already gone, there's only one matter left unattended: Amy.

Dean hasn't even thought of Amy since his time at the psychiatric hospital. The last time he remembers seeing her was the day Dean last saw Sam, and it isn't a pretty memory. There had been yelling and angry words and cursing and she had been crying, so Jessica stole her away and took her into the backyard. All he remembers of her is a two year old with wet cheeks who didn't understand why her dad and his brother hated each other so much.

"_I don't understand it either, kiddo. I guess some things are just like that." _

They aren't words he's said, but rather words he wishes he could have said. Because her last question to him was why. Why Sam didn't like to talk about Dean anymore. Why Dean wasn't allowed to see her anymore. But instead of answering her, he had just gotten up and walked away because he couldn't stand to tell the truth. What Sam had done was something no child should have to know about her father.

"You mean Amy," Dean states dully.

"Yes," Castiel confirms, and suddenly his tone is different. Awkward, almost. "Amy's situation is. Complicated." Dean snorts again and the silence on the other line is disapproving. He isn't sure how he knows. He can just tell. "I don't see how this is humorous."

"I wasn't laughing because it's funny," Dean explains dryly. "So I guess you're calling because Sam never managed to mention to his _lawyer_ that he fucking hated me so I'm still listed as Amy's guardian-in-case-of-death-or-suicide or whatever."

Castiel sighs. "Not exactly."

Dean narrows his eyes. "Please, Cas, _do_ elaborate."

The name slips out, an old habit. The line goes silent. Dean stops breathing.

"Perhaps it would be easier if his lawyer were to explain the situation to you himself."

And just like that, they forget it ever happened. Neither of them wants to remember the time when Cas was the word, or when Dean's name was still spoken fondly on Castiel's tongue.

"Fine. Sure. Whatever."

Castiel gives him a time and a place and hangs up. Dean goes back to drinking and listening to the television. He tries his best to forget the appointment stuck to his refrigerator door. He doesn't want to think about responsibilities right now. Right now, he just wants to sleep and pretend like he's not going to have to be a father to a little girl whose real father Dean might as well have killed himself.

* * *

**Right. I have no idea what I just wrote. I'm not even sure if I'll write another chapter. I probably will. Depends. Anyway. Wow. Sorry for feels and suffering. Bye.**

**Does anyone even _read_ stories with character death? **


	2. Chapter 2

**Happy it's-almost-my-birthday. Have this angsty fic in lieu of an actual present. **

* * *

There were a couple of things Dean Winchester never thought he would ever be doing in a million years. Sitting in a run-down roadhouse across from a grown man with a talking sock puppet was one of them.

"... just put it away, Garth."

"But Ms. Amy will be here a-a-a-any minute now, and Mr. Fizzles needs to look his best!" squeaks board-certified lawyer Garth Fitzgerald IV from the mouth of a child's toy.

"Dear God man, _put the sock puppet down_," Dean demands irritably. "You're going to scare her."

"Oh, no, Dean, you'd be surprised, kids _love_ Mr. Fizzles. He's a great little guy," Garth says cheerfully, and then holds up the sock puppet, mouth open to say something, but Dean glares and shakes his head. Garth lays the sock puppet on the table, looking ashamed.

Dean sighs, and leans back in the booth. They've been here for almost an hour, going over papers and signing things. Castiel called Garth earlier to tell him he was going to be late, which Dean has mixed feelings about. On the one hand, he has a little more time to mentally prepare. On the other hand, he just wants to get it all over with, because right now he's too content. He wants to bring Amy home and show her around and hurt himself remembering Sam. Nothing's happening and he knows if the numbness sets in he won't be able to pull himself out in time.

Thankfully, Dean doesn't have time to think further, because the door of the roadhouse swings open, and an older man with a plaid shirt and beard walks in. Something moves behind his legs, and the old man glances down. He says something that Dean can't hear, and Dean recognizes him as a friend of his father's, Bobby Singer. He hasn't seen Bobby in years - longer than he hasn't seen Sam. He knew Bobby and Sam had been close, seeing as after John left, Bobby filled in until Sam went off to college, but Dean had no idea that they were close enough for Amy to come with Bobby.

And then, for the first time in five years, Dean sees Amy.

She hesitantly steps out from behind Bobby, her hands wrapped around his wrist, and looks around the roadhouse. She has a little nose and high cheekbones and Winchester eyes – the only part of her that belongs to her mother is her hair, thin and curly. But all Dean can see in her is Sam.

His stomach twists when her eyes scan straight over him and then fix on Garth. Him, she recognizes. Not Dean.

Bobby recognizes them both, and Garth beckons them over. "Hey, guys!" he says enthusiastically, and then Mr. Fizzles pops back up from the table. Dean clenches his jaw. "Hey there, Amy!" Garth says in the puppet's voice, and Amy wrinkles her nose a little, but smiles anyway.

"Hi Garth," she says quietly, then adds: "Er, hi Mr. Fizzles..." Dean gets the feeling she's humouring him.

Bobby eyes the puppet distastefully. "How do you even still _have_ a job, Garth?" he asks, clicking his tongue. Garth only spares him a brief, sad look. Bobby shakes his head. "Where's Castiel? I thought he was going to be here."

"He's going to be _late,_" Dean drawls, speaking up. "Looks like you're stuck with me, kiddo." He winks.

Amy looks up at him shyly, and then presses herself closer to Bobby. "Are you Uncle Dean?" she asks.

'Uncle' seems wrong. It gives Dean the mental image of someone old – someone fun. Like the guy who pulls coins out from behind ears and makes off colour jokes that parents silently judge him for. But the word sounds so good on Amy's lips that Dean can't say anything. It's five years ago all over again, and she still has him wrapped around her finger, even if she _can't_ remember him. "Yep, that's me." When he smiles at her, he tries to keep the sadness out of it. He's not sure if he succeeds.

"That's right, Amy!" Mr. Fizzles says happily. "Now I know that things have been rough, and everything is changing," Dean wants to roll his eyes, "but I promise, things are going to get better! Especially now that you have brand new people to take care of you – _three_ of them!"

Dean starts to nod, and then stops. "… Three?"

Mr. Fizzles turns to Dean. "Yep! See, Amy, your parents loved you _ve-e-e-ery_ much, and they wanted you to have the _best life possible _if anything were to happen to them, so they didn't just give you _one _parent, or _two _parents, but _three!_"

Dean looks at Bobby, but Bobby shrugs and shakes his head.

Mr. Fizzles continues. "Uncle Dean, Uncle Castiel, and Uncle Gabriel!"

And then three voices exclaim in unison: "_What?!_"


	3. Chapter 3

**Bobby pulls a Bones because I'm used to writing Bones and I've never written Bobby before. Also the dialogue is stupid. This whole chapter is stupid. /throws chair /moves to Mexico /joins a cult **

* * *

No one notices Castiel entering the roadhouse. Bobby's blocking the door, and Dean's too preoccupied searching for Sam in Amy's face to hear the jingle of bells and the rush of wind from outside. But there he is, standing a few feet behind Bobby, with his jaw set and his eyes wide, clearly as surprised and horrified as the rest of them. Very suddenly, Dean can't breathe.

"What do you mean, _Gabriel_ was named one of the guardians?" Bobby demands.

Mr. Fizzles looks very uncomfortable. "Come on, guys, don't be that way! Gabriel's a great guy!" he laughs nervously. "Right, Amy?" Garth isn't smiling.

Amy starts to smile and agree, but then catches sight of everyone's expressions and sobers, settling for a shrug. Castiel comes up behind her, and she reaches for his hand. Dean swallows.

"Yeah, if by 'great' you mean 'crazy and irresponsible," Bobby says sarcastically.

"I agree with Bobby," Castiel says stoically. "Hello, Amy," he adds more quietly, looking down at her. She smiles toothily up at him. Castiel glances at Dean, opens his mouth, but settles for a nod. Dean can barely make eye contact, so he does the same in return. Time starts again. Dean remembers why he was so shocked. And very suddenly, he's angry.

Gabriel was one of the biggest things Sam and Dean never agreed on. Sam always used to say that it was because they were too alike – Gabriel was the big brother who deflected pain with humour, but Dean thought it was the other way around. Sure, Sam had doted on the guy – maybe out of affection, maybe out of pity. But the connection between the two ran deeper than that, however much Sam used to deny it. Sam saw himself in Gabriel, and Gabriel saw himself in Sam.

Castiel once told Dean how Gabriel abandoned the Novak family the second he turned 18 – ran off and blew the money he had saved on useless fancies that never became anything substantial. It was a lot like what Sam had done all those years ago when John wanted him to join the military like Dean had. Neither Sam nor Gabriel understood the power of blood – of loyalty. Maybe that was why Castiel and Dean had… well.

Still, what Dean personally remembers about the guy is that he was tricky. Tricky and manipulative and dead sarcastic.

And also the reason why Sam and Dean had The Fight.

Darkness bubbles up in Dean's chest. He knows he can't think about it – not while he's surrounded by people. Not while he's being observed. Especially not while Amy is there, watching him with her little kid eyes that see things grown-ups don't. So he pushes it down for the time-being.

Still, the idea of having Gabriel around to influence Amy makes Dean's palms itch.

A horrible thought pops into his head. "Hang on- Gabriel's not coming _here_, is he?" he asks with foreboding.

Garth smiles sadly and shakes his head. "Uncle Gabriel couldn't make it today, but he's really sorry!" he assures Amy, who looks surprisingly disappointed. "But he _did_ give me this to give to you!" Garth fumbles around in his jacket pocket, tongue sticking out the side of his mouth like he's concentrating really, really hard. Then Amy's whole face brightens as he pulls out the biggest lollipop Dean's ever seen.

Castiel makes a sound and rolls his eyes. "Typical," he mutters. Amy doesn't hesitate in reaching for it.

Dean raises his eyebrows. "Hey, hey, maybe we should save that for _after_ dinner," he says, and Amy looks at him with wide eyes. He panics inwardly. "Back me up here, Cas…tiel."

"Uncle Dean is right," he agrees dully.

Garth gives Amy an apologetic smile. Dean's pretty sure he hasn't _stopped_ smiling since he'd met him that morning. "That's not all bad, Amy. You'd be surprised how good a lollipop can taste after all those filling fruits and vegetables and meats and –" Dean pulls a face, and Garth backtracks, "- and macaroni and cheese."

"Macaroni and cheese?" she repeats, looking happier. Dean nods and smiles because mac and cheese is just about the only thing he can make, and he's happy that she seems excited about it. Then again, what kid doesn't like mac and cheese?

Garth hands the lollipop to Dean, who gives it the once over before sticking it in his own pocket. It isn't that he doesn't _trust _Gabriel – okay, that's exactly what it is. He doesn't trust Gabriel. And judging by the approval in Castiel's face, neither does Castiel.

"So what happens now?" Dean asks, wanting to get down to business. "I already signed everything I have to sign. What about him?" He jerks a thumb towards Castiel, who looks toward Garth.

"Well now that you mention it, there are a few things you still have to sign," the lawyer says.

Bobby and Castiel and Amy are all still standing, so Garth scoots over, and Dean does the same. Bobby looks for a chair and Castiel glances at the seat next to Garth, but before he can move, Amy slides into it. He blinks. Dean clears his throat. "Hey, Bobby, Castiel can sit in the chair. You sit in the booth," he offers.

Bobby looks miffed. "I'm 58, not disabled," he grumbles, but takes the seat nonetheless. "Idjits."

Castiel looks relieved, and sits in the seat Bobby had intended for himself. He tries to scoot the chair forward, but his trenchcoat gets caught under one of the feet. "What do I need to sign?" he asks, bouncing a little to release the coat.

Garth (finally) puts away Mr. Fizzles, handing him to Amy to play with, and then slides a stack of papers across the table. "You need to initial every third page," he explains, "and then you're officially Amy's guardian!"

Castiel takes the papers and flips through them, but he hesitates. Amy isn't paying attention and doesn't see it, but Dean does. Castiel purses his lips and his fingers tighten around his pen. _He doesn't have any idea what he's doing_, Dean realises. He's as lost as Dean.

They're both rolling with the punches as they come, and learning that Gabriel's going to be legally responsible for the life of someone they both cherish is a pretty big damn punch. Reality kicks Dean in the butt and everything that has happened in the past two weeks sinks in. He's going to have to raise a little girl with the last two people in the world he wants to be around.

And that sentiment doesn't stem from (just) their history. He knows Castiel doesn't know anything about kids, and apparently the most Gabriel knows is that they like large, flamboyant lollipops. None of them knows how this is going to work. Gabriel isn't even here to discuss it. Castiel lives in California, Dean's in Kansas, and nobody's known where Gabriel's been in the past five years. Bobby has his own problems to worry about without trying to help raise someone else's kid, and Garth – well, Garth's just a lawyer. All he can do is have them sign a few documents and go on his merry way.

And stuck in between them all is Amy. Dean watches her as she sits across from him, picking at Mr. Fizzles and her hair and squirming in her seat like she wants to jump up and run around but she's too polite to ask. He looks at her and he sees everything he's missed with Sam and it _hurts_. Sam's eyes, his nose, his mouth, his jaw. She's _him_, and she's perfect in every way.

And Dean doesn't want her.

Above all else, _he doesn't want her. _


	4. Chapter 4

"_Sometimes I think it would be better if you were never here in the first place, man." _

_When he says it, he means it. Sam is a responsibility. A burden that doesn't know it's a burden. The sentence is filled with unspoken thoughts; 'tearing this family apart', 'got not respect for blood', 'do you care about anyone but yourself'. It's as far as Dean can get without going too far. Without bringing all of his emotions to light and having to expose them, to really feel them._

_But Sam feels it. He doesn't move for a moment, like he doesn't want to believe what he just heard. Then his head sinks and his entire body depresses. When he talks, his voice is wet. He doesn't bother hiding the tears. "You know, Dean… sometimes I think that too." _

_But Dean isn't listening. He stopped listening a long time ago. Instead of apologizing (oh God why didn't he apologise) or begging for forgiveness (he should have gotten down on his fucking knees) or coming back the next day and desperately trying to right things (he had five fucking years of 'the next day' and he never once thought), he storms out of the front door and doesn't look back. _

. . .

He gives Amy Sam's old room. It's his first time seeing it in months when he shows it to her, bare and dusty and cold and empty. There's a closet with no clothes and a bed with no sheets and a shelf with no books, and the walls are a dull, lifeless blue. It's hardly a place for a child.

Still, it passes all the requirements, and Dean figures that once Amy's things get released, the place'll brighten up. In the meantime, Cas somehow finds sheets in the hall closet and lets Amy pick between white and red. She picks white, and Dean and Castiel make up the bed for her. It's late and she's very sleepy, but she's still nursing the lollipop Gabriel gave her. After a big dinner at the roadhouse, Dean had pretended to decide to give it to her even though he had made the non-decision a long time ago. It just seemed like the fatherly thing to do.

As large as the lollipop was, it's nearly gone now, so Dean figures he doesn't have to worry about her trying to stash it away somewhere for later. He leans against the doorway while Castiel tucks her in. Cas smoothes her hair back, kisses her forehead, and tells her goodnight. Because he knows he has to say something, Dean adds in his own, "Night, kiddo. See you in the morning," before heading back downstairs.

He's still set up on the couch, mostly because he's forgotten how to sleep in a bed. That morning, he had thrown out all of the beer cans that were scattered about haphazardly, and had made sure to put the trash on the curb as well. Just in case.

Sighing, he half-sits on the arm of the couch, shoulders hunched, waiting. A few minutes later, he hears a door closing, and then Castiel appears from the stairway.

Dean swallows. It's the first time they've been alone together since they broke up.

"So, Castiel, when were you thinking of heading out?" he asks after clearing his throat.

Castiel frowns. "Do you need me to run an errand?" he asks, and then takes off the trenchcoat, folding it into a square.

Dean mimics his expression, eyeing the trenchcoat. "What-" _are you doing, _he wants to ask. "Run- no, I meant when you're going to head _out_. Y'know. Like, home," he clarifies.

Castiel tilts his head and puts the coat down. "I don't understand. I'm living here now." Seeing Dean's look of abject horror, Castiel continues. "You don't remember? We talked about this. At the roadhouse. You asked how I was going to be involved, and I said I would stay here." He kicks off his shoes. "It was quite clear."

"Clear?" Dean repeats loudly. "You call that _clear_?"

"Yes…?"

Castiel narrows his eyes like he doesn't really understand Dean's irritation. Dean scoffs and stands up from the couch. "Yeah, maybe in your world. Not in mine." He bites his lip, and then lowers his voice. "Look, Castiel, you _can't_ stay here."

"If this is about the money-"

"No, pfft, it has nothing to do with that," Dean cuts him off, waving a hand. "I just. I don't think it's the best idea-"

"For what, Dean?" he interrupts, and he looks up at Dean with a hard expression on his face. "For Amy to have two parents? One for when the other is at work and can't pick her up at school? One for when the other can't make it home in time to make dinner?" He pauses, and a little bit of the tension in his jaw releases. "We both know what kind of children single parents produce."

Dean recoils. He's about to snap something back when he remembers that Castiel was raised by a single parent as well; and as much as he hates to admit it, Castiel is right. Dean has a job – an important, money-making job that keeps him away from home half of the day. He doesn't even have the time to take Amy to school in the morning, let alone come and get her if she gets sick. She'd be home alone from three to five, and while two hours didn't seem like much to Dean, he remembers how it used to bother… well. Sam.

So maybe having Cas here, ready and willing to do everything Dean couldn't, wasn't such a bad idea.

Another thought abruptly enters his head. "So what, you're just going to stay home and play housewife?" It seems funny to him, but Castiel doesn't laugh.

"Well, that was the plan, considering I don't have a job," he says dryly. He tucks his coat under his arm and kicks his shoes next to Dean's. An awkward silence settles over them, during which Castiel flutters about, looking around and crossing his arms like he's not sure what to do, or if he should leave.

Dean has no idea either. He's only quiet because he isn't angry anymore and he's not sure what to do with that.

After a moment, he asks, "Do you still- y'know, teach, or whatever?"

Castiel ceases his fluttering and nods. "Religion, right?"

He nods, but Dean doesn't really have to wait for the answer because he already knows what Castiel does. It's not like he would have forgotten.

"I hear Kansas U's Religion department is pretty good. You could look for a job there," he suggests.

Castiel looks like he's considering the option. "Perhaps I will."

Dean grunts in acknowledgement. Suddenly he doesn't know what to say. Silence falls again.

Then Cas opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but falters. "… I can sleep on the couch if…" he starts, but then his eyes scan the room, observing the blanket, the alarm clock, and all the signs that Dean's been sleeping there for months. He closes his mouth. "I'll just… sleep upstairs, then."

It takes Dean a few seconds to notice that Castiel appears to be waiting for something. "Oh. Uh… Guest bedroom is to the left of Amy's," he says.

It isn't exactly a lie, per say. It's more like a stretch. There _is_ a bedroom next to Amy's, but it isn't the guest bedroom – it's Dean's. It isn't a big deal – after all, he hasn't touched it in months, and most of his stuff is either packed away or just gone. Cas probably won't be able to tell the difference.

"Thank you," Castiel responds in a monotone. He turns around to leave, his hand on the railing, only to hesitate. "Dean…"

This time, his tone is different. Softer. Almost… apologetic.

"What," Dean snaps tersely. He doesn't like the change.

Even though he's facing the television, his back to Cas, he can tell the softness is gone.

"Nothing," he finishes emotionlessly, and then: "Good night."

Before Dean can say anything back (as if he could), Castiel retreats up the stairs. Dean hears the door to his bedroom slam and he mutes the television. He doesn't want the background noise anymore. He just wants the silence.

* * *

**It is impossibly hard to type Cas' full name holy shit. Gonna have to fix that. Also sorry if this chapter is a little choppy. This is more like a filler chapter while I decide how I want to proceed with this. **


	5. Chapter 5

The next few days are awkward. Everything is new and all anyone seems to be able to do is avoid eye contact. Castiel hangs around the house, scrubbing counters and moving things up to what is quickly becoming _his _room. Apart from the sudden desire to clean everything in sight, Dean is glad that Castiel isn't trying to change the house too much. He's not sure he can take seeing Castiel's family pictures on the mantle or drinking coffee out of Castiel's mugs. They can barely share a conversation, let alone a life.

The three eat all their meals together, but apart from that, interactions are sparse. For the most part, Amy explores the house and keeps to herself. She's quiet, and Dean isn't sure whether it's her personality or she's just feeling the awkwardness too. The most Dean is able to say to her is "Night, kiddo," and although she has a habit of surveying him curiously while she thinks he isn't looking, she seems much more at home with Castiel.

But when Amy's things come, the dynamic changes. It's like she's a different person. She skips straight past the ones with practical labels like 'Clothes' and 'Board games' and instantly latches onto the biggest one: 'Books'. Dean watches her try and fail to pick it up by herself for a solid minute before he steps in with an amused, "Let me give you a hand, kiddo."

She accepts his help with the box and with all the other boxes, but when he asks her if she needs him to help put away the books, she doesn't give him a second look. She won't let anyone touch her books – not even Castiel. But because they need to feel needed, she lets them refold her shirts and hang her skirts in the closet, and even entrusts Dean with her stuffed animal collection. For some reason, Castiel gets stuck with all the heavy tasks, like moving the bed, rearranging the vanities, and unsticking the window. When Dean asks Castiel if he needs help, Amy breaks in before he can answer and sends Dean back to the stuffed animals.

"You're too tired," she insists, and even though Dean's eyebrows shoot up, he rolls with it.

A week passes in this fashion, with Cas and Dean fixing up her room, hanging pictures, and playing with stuffed bears, until another issue arises – a much more important issue. Castiel approaches Dean about it one morning after Dean comes out of the shower.

"_Son of a-"_

He jumps when he opens the bathroom door and finds Castiel standing in the hall, staring at the spot where the door had been.

"Hello, Dean," he says.

Dean pulls his bathrobe tighter around his body self-consciously. Then he's suddenly self-conscious about being self-conscious, so he puffs out his chest and rubs his neck to hide the movement. "How long have you been standing there?" he demands.

Castiel glances at his watch. "Ten minutes," he answers.

Dean narrows his eyes and juts out his lower jaw. "Oh, well, yeah, ten minutes…" he mumbles sarcastically, then: _"Ten minutes?! _Y'know, there's this thing called _privacy_!"

Castiel frowns. "I apologize," he says, but he has that look on his face – the one he gets whenever he knows something has to be done within social context, but doesn't understand the reason behind it. Dean scowls. "I have something of importance to discuss with you."

"You'd better," he grumbles.

He does. "It's about Sam."

Dean narrows his eyes. He didn't even want to have _a_ conversation, let alone this one. "We're so not having this talk," he snaps, and ducks past Castiel.

He hears the shuffle of shoes against wood as Castiel sighs and follows him. "Dean..." he calls after him, his voice low. Dean stops and closes his eyes momentarily before turning around.

"What?"

Castiel sighs with his mouth closed, glancing at the door to Amy's room. He motions for Dean to continue down the stairs.

Grudgingly, Dean complies, and they settle down in the living room. Dean stands by the couch, not wanting to make this conversation last longer than necessary by sitting somewhere. Castiel brings a stack of letters in from the kitchen and flips through them somewhat tiredly, rubbing his eyes. "I haven't brought it up before, but the bills-"

A sudden rush of panic jerks through Dean's chest, and abruptly he cuts Castiel off. "Shut up, we're fine."

Castiel's jaw tightens. "'Fine'," he repeats, air quoting the word, "isn't exactly the word I'd use to describe being _80,000 dollars_ in debt."

Dean blinks. A hot, sick feeling of 'oh no' shoots through him as he sees the papers in Castiel's hand, and realises that they're not just notifications for the same bill, but multiple ones. "Look, I'm getting a weekend job," he backpedals. "And Benny just found a place to open another shop over in Abilene-"

Castiel interrupts him. "You don't have bottomless pockets, Dean. Let me help-"

"Ha! Let _you_ help? It'd take an entire year's worth of your salary to pay for a _month_ of-" he closes his mouth abruptly. Silence fills the room for a moment. Then, looking anywhere but Castiel, Dean lowers his voice. "I've got it all under control, Cas. Just trust me."

Cas is silent for a moment, and Dean thinks, just for a second, that maybe he's going to let it go. "Not everything has to be your responsibility, Dean," he says quietly. Dean swallows, and Castiel continues. "You're right, I don't have the money. But I know someone who does."

It takes Dean a minute to put Cas' words together. "… oh, for the love of- _Gabriel?" _he snorts. "If you think I'm accepting _his_ help, you're crazy."

Castiel's face hardens. "Would you rather stop paying the bills?"

Dean falters, and his fingers begin to shake. After a moment, he straightens his shoulders. "Fine," he sighs. "I'll ask him."

Castiel nods, looking pleased with himself, but then adds, "I think I should call him." A little relieved, Dean nods and then flops down on the couch as if to end the conversation.

Before he can turn on the TV, Castiel hesitates. "Dean…" He pauses. "I'm glad we had this talk."

Dean only grunts in acknowledgement. Castiel takes his silence as an answer and, with a little sigh, disappears back into his room.

* * *

**Revised. **


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel leaves half past two for the university. Dean doesn't really care. He has other things on his mind anyway, like how soon Amy's school starts and what his hours will be and why he ever accepted this responsibility in the first place. All he really knows is that it somehow feels good to be sacrificing his personal happiness for someone else's, and it's not because it makes him happy, because it doesn't. It makes him tired and bitter and a little bit satisfied. Dean's not sure how to feel anything else. Because whatever he feels when he starts tearing apart his life to accommodate Amy's isn't happy – it's _familiar. _And with a new housemate and a new schedule and new rules, he clings to what he can remember.

Castiel doesn't come home for another five hours. Half past three, Dean starts to worry, but he doesn't call. He just looks at the temperature outside, which reads nearly 100 degrees, and thinks, '_wow, what perfect weather for finally fixing that pool filter that hasn't worked in seven years_'. So he puts on two t-shirts and sacrifices the indoor temperature of 68 degrees to see if he can do something about the accumulating grime.

He works up a good, hot sweat, drenching the shirt he's in, but by four, he still hasn't managed to get the filter to work. Around the same time, Amy notices him and peers out from the kitchen curiously. He doesn't beckon her, just lets her come to him like a stray dog. Eventually she wanders out, eyes squinting against the hot Kansas sun. "Uncle Cas said the pool was broken," she calls questioningly from the porch.

"It is. I'm fixin' it." He holds up a screwdriver. "See?"

Silence falls again, and Amy sits down on the porch steps. Dean goes back to screwing around with the filter, not really getting anything done. Briefly, Amy goes back into the kitchen and Dean thinks he's rid of her, but she returns a moment later with a water bottle and the half a sandwich Castiel had wrapped in cling film yesterday and settles down on the steps, watching him work.

After a good ten minutes of scraping himself on valves and metal that's been baking in the sun for hours, he gives up and throws his screwdriver on the ground. It rolls off the concrete and onto the pool cover. He stares at it for a few seconds with his hands on his hips, eyes narrowed in the sun, reevaluating his life decisions, until suddenly he doesn't want to deep-fry himself into oblivion anymore.

He pulls off one of his t-shirts and joins Amy in the shade of the steps. "Want some water?" she asks, holding out her water bottle. Dean blinks.

"Thanks," he says with a tight smile. He tries not to drink it all, but fails miserably. Amy frowns a little, and Dean mimics the expression. "Sorry, kiddo. Let me get some more."

He retreats to the kitchen with the water bottle and fills it with tap water. He doesn't hear the door open partly because of the water, and partly because he's lost in his own head. So when he turns around and sees Castiel standing in the archway, he starts so badly he nearly splashes water all down his front.

"Jesus mother of-" he curses, rubbing at his shirt pointlessly. "I'm buying you a fucking collar and bell." Then he regrets saying it, because-

"You already tried that. Don't you remem-"

"_Shut up_."

Castiel closes his mouth awkwardly. Flustered, Dean returns to the sink and refills the bottle.

Castiel clears his throat, breaking the silence. "I spoke to Gabriel."

"What, you mean he's in town?" Dean replies, making a face.

"No, I called him on his cellular phone."

"Oh."

"He said something about getting an apartment on Lawrence."

"… right." Dean suppresses a sigh. "Is that all?"

Castiel hesitates.

"Yes," he says finally, but it sounds more like, 'I guess'.


	7. Chapter 7

A week later, Gabriel stands in the middle of the room holding a Snickers bar and a lollipop. There's a smirk on his face and a twinkle in his eyes, and both become a hundred percent more concentrated the minute he sees Amy. "A-team!" he greets her, kneeling down with arms wide open. "Get a look at you. How's life as a Winchester-Novak treatin' you?"

The name makes Dean wince. "I have a pool now, like you!" Amy announces, unbothered.

"Well, how about that. And here I was, thinking ol' Deano hadn't opened that pool in _years_," Gabriel says with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Amy wrinkles her nose, though good-heartedly. "He's fixing it," she replies, a little defensively.

Gabriel stands and pats her on the head. "Course he is. Now how about you go find Castiel and tell him big bro is here," he tells her, and she obediently gallops up the stairs.

When she's disappeared, the smirk Gabriel is wearing remains, but his eyes glitter nervously. "Hey, Dean," he says, and his tone changes too. "Long time, no alimony."

Dean pulls a face. "You're hilarious."

Gabriel picks up on the hostility in his voice, and he counters it with a barking laugh. "Won't deny it."

"Why are you even here?" Dean sighs, wanting to cut to the chase.

Gabriel's eyebrows pop up. "Good question," he hums sarcastically. "It's certainly not because I _want_ to be here. For Amy's sake? Jeez, even for _Castiel's_ sake?"

"Castiel? Why would Castiel care?" Dean scoffs.

Gabriel seems to find this amusing, because his smile gets a little wider. "You genuinely don't- hey, I'm still his brother," he says. "And you know how Cas is about _family_ and all that crap." He waves a hand dismissively. Dean crosses his arms.

"Gabriel?"

Dean jumps when Castiel abruptly appears in the stairwell, Amy at his side. Gabriel, not startled, smirks at his brother, crinkling the candy wrapper. "Hey, bro," he says jauntily.

Castiel's jaw tightens and he runs a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, as if trying to smooth it down. He appears, quite uncharacteristically, to have just woken up. "Gabriel," he greets him stiffly.

Dean wanders over to the fireplace, hands stuffed in his pockets. He pretends to be preoccupied straightening pictures. This is one exchange he doesn't want to be involved in. Vaguely, he registers that there's a picture missing off the mantle - one of the ones of Dean, Castiel, Jessica, and a tiny baby Amy. He sweeps his fingers through the square of dustless wood where it had rested, frowning.

"I got your phone call," Gabriel continues in the background. "Came to check in on Amy and company, and letcha know I got that apartment on Lawrence."

He can practically hear Castiel pursing his lips. "As you can see, 'Amy and company' are fine. Congratulations on your new apartment." There's an unspoken 'as long as you're not living here' attached to the sentence.

Amy tugs on Castiel's sleeve. "Can we go visit his apartment?" she asks.

Dean glances around and finds Castiel looking at him seriously. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, leaving the missing picture for now. "I think it'd be more fun if Gabriel came here, kiddo," he says, even though the idea makes him feel mildly nauseous.

Amy seems satisfied, if not a little disappointed. But that doesn't matter, because if Gabriel has to be in her life, Dean wants full control over all the details.


	8. Chapter 8

**Wow I need a beta. Also I swear there's more destiel in upcoming chapters. Anyway, thanks to everyone who reviewed, faved, and followed. You're all great. Carry on wayward fanfic readers. **

* * *

Taking Amy to her first day of school proves to be more traumatic than Dean anticipated. Both Castiel and Amy wake up at some ridiculous hour to shower and pack their respective school bags, Amy's filled with pencils and papers and crayons and Castiel's filled with big books and binders. Dean doesn't even open his eyes until he hears a key in the lock of the front door, but when it ends up being only Gabriel, he unhands the gun he'd been fingering under his pillow and instead settles for the uncomfortable silence.

Amy doesn't share the strangeness both Castiel and Dean feel at having Gabriel so close. In fact, she seems to prefer Gabriel over the both of them, so when Gabriel gets relegated to the back seat, Amy is glad that he gets to sit with her. Inwardly, Dean wonders if the only reason she likes him is because he gives her candy.

"You think I can't see you sneaking her that Snickers, Gabriel?" Dean calls him out on it a couple times, but in the end, fails in stopping Gabriel from slipping about five different candies of various shapes, sizes, and calorie counts into Amy's brown lunch bag.

By the time they reach the school, everyone is eager to get out of the car. Even though it's a few days before all the other schools start, the Century School runs year-round, and at nine o'clock in the morning, a surprising amount of children are already gathered outside. They drop Amy off at the front desk and the secretary shows her to her first class, and just like that, she's gone. Dean gets the feeling that it was harder for the three of them than it was for Amy herself.

Once back in the car, Castiel informs Dean that he has a job interview with Kansas U, so Dean drives the few miles to the campus and drops him off. Left alone in the car, Gabriel and Dean both watch Castiel walk into the building awkwardly, and once he disappears, a tentative quiet settles over the car.

Dean's the first to make a sound. "Your place, or mine?"

Gabriel snickers. "Well big guy, I usually wait until the second date for that, but for you, I think I can make an exception," he says, quirking his lips, but Dean doesn't even acknowledge the joke.

"Your place, then. Give me an address," he says shortly.

Gabriel is quiet for a second. When he finally replies, his tone is just as short. "Just drop me off on Lawrence Avenue."

. . .

Dean drops Gabriel off at his apartment, which Dean notes (with a poorly concealed snort) is the biggest and best building in town. Neither of them say goodbye before Dean drives away, wheels spinning against the concrete.

When he reaches his shop, there's paperwork to file and cars to attend to and investors to make excuses for and at the end of what rapidly becomes a very tiring day, Dean is just glad Amy is taking the bus home. When five o'clock hits, Dean shuts his office door, hastily stuffs his things into his bag, and then waits for the hallway outside to be empty.

But just as the last worker shuffles out the door, the phone rings. Dean closes his eyes, fighting down the urge to curse. He debates just letting it go to voice mail, but in the end, figures it could be something important about Amy or Cas calling for a ride, so against his better judgement, he picks it up.

As it turns out, it's neither of them. "Mr. Winchester?" a professional-sounding woman inquires.

"Yep, that's me." He leans against the edge of his desk, balancing on the palm of his hand.

"This is Seattle Mercy Hospital," she says. "We're calling about your test results."

It's suddenly very hard to hold the phone to his ear. Checking that the door is closed, he puts it on speaker. "And?"

"Your tests came back at exactly 78%. You're a match."


	9. Chapter 9

_It was a mistake going out in this weather. Dean's hair and clothes are soaked through and his shoes squelch – or at least, he imagines that if he could hear anything beyond the roaring wind, they would be squelching. There's only another two blocks until he reaches his house, but his skin is starting to tingle painfully from the onslaught of wind and water, and he's not sure if he can make it. _Five minutes_, he tells himself. _Five minutes until you're home.

_The only reason he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket is because he has his hand wrapped tightly around it to protect it from the torrent. He ducks into a phone booth, figuring he'll get washed off by the rain anyway, and pulls up his message with numb hands. _

_It's from Bobby. It's just four words, but they steal Dean's breath away. _

'_Sam's hurt. Come quick.'_

_He forgets the wind and the water and the pain. When he starts to run, he doesn't care that he slips on the concrete or that breathing is like drowning. All he can hear is the roaring in his ears, and it's not coming from the wind anymore. _

_When he bursts through the hospital doors, wet hair and clothes dripping over sterile linoleum, he recognizes the look on the doctors' faces. They say words he doesn't bother understanding and escort him to the room where Bobby waits, wearing the same face. Something's terribly wrong and his whole body knows it but his mind won't listen to what his eyes are telling him; that the machine is barely registering a heartbeat, that there's a tube stuffed down his little brother's throat, and all he can think is _why aren't they doing anything? Don't they know Sammy isn't waking up?

. . .

"Hey, Sammy. Sorry I haven't come by lately. It's been crazy with Amy and Castiel and everything that's going on. Um… I brought flowers.

"Anyway, I've got some good news - _great_ news, actually. The hospital called this morning, and… well, I'm a match. Just about 78%, which I guess is a good number. I don't really know how these things work. I bet you would coz you're such a nerd.

"… right. Ahem. I'll just leave these here… I've gotta get home before dinner so Castiel doesn't throw a shit fit. I told you he's livin' with us, right? Feels a little like some weird episode of Full House, to be honest, but if it helps Amy…

"Anyway, I really gotta go. So I'll, uh. Come by later. Maybe I'll bring Amy, if that's alright with you."

Dean swallows as he lays the flowers on the hospital bed. Sam, his body motionless except for the machine-regulated rise and fall of his chest, doesn't respond. He never does.

* * *

**Hey, I never said that Sam was specifically _dead_. Idek. I dunno what I'm even doing with this story anymore. _I never planned on writing more than one chapter. _**


	10. Chapter 10

******I'd like to pour buckets of hypo-allergenic bow-tie-wearing kittens on the following people for their reviews that gave me little fluttery happy feelings: Pyro42x, Dimac.31, and a guest who called themselves No One. These are just the most recent reviews. Seriously guys, thanks to everyone who followed/reviewed/faved/even just read this and didn't do anything with it. Have some kittens. Or puppies, if you like. **

* * *

When Dean comes home that afternoon, he brings the smell of flowers and antiseptic with him. Castiel knows where he's been but he doesn't mention it. It wouldn't matter even if he did. The first thing Dean does when he gets home is grab his tools and vanish out the back door, muttering something about fixing the pool under his breath. Castiel doesn't think much of it; he just hopes Dean doesn't stay out too long in the dark, as he is wont to do.

Later that night, Gabriel drops by. He comes bearing gifts as he always does; this time, it's a leather-bound journal with the initials A.W. etched into the front. He claims he can only stay for a few minutes, but Castiel knows better. With Amy there, he won't leave. Castiel isn't surprised when five minutes becomes twenty, and twenty becomes an hour.

Because Dean is occupied, Castiel stays and observes Gabriel and Amy, not as mistrusting of his brother as Dean, but still suspicious. Besides, he still hasn't had time to talk to his brother about what he discussed with Dean, and he figures tonight is the perfect night to ask; after all, the last thing Castiel wants is for Dean to butt into the conversation and say something that will unravel what tenuous threads of tolerance still exist between the three of them.

Time passes quickly. Faster than any of them realise, it's nine o'clock. "One more magic trick," Amy begs, but she yawns after she says it. She's tuckered out.

So is Castiel, but he doesn't let it show. He's always tired these days anyway.

"Alright, A-Team. How about a little hypnosis?" Gabriel kneels down in front of Amy, gold eyes glittering, and she nods excitedly. "Okay, now open your eyes wide, take a deep breath, and watch my necklace." He pulls a silver chain over his head with a dog tag hanging on it and holds it in front of her. Earnestly, she obeys him and stares at it. "One, two, three," he counts as he swings it back and forth lazily, her eyes following it. "Four… five… six… se-e-even… e-e-e-e-e-ight..."

Amy's eyelids flutter. With a smirk, Gabriel slings the necklace back over his head and sweeps Amy into his arms, now fast asleep. Castiel rubs his own eyes, annoyed that he was affected; he'd forgotten how good his brother was at tricks of the mind.

"I used to hate you for that," he calls after Gabriel as he takes her up the stairs.

"But you fell for it every time," Gabriel winks.

Castiel listens to his footsteps fade out as he walks down the hall, and then to the click of Amy's door. The house really is poorly insulated; he can even hear the muffled sound of Gabriel's voice as he says, "G'night, A-team." He stands up when he hears Gabriel returning, more hurried than he was when he was with Amy.

"Amy's all tucked in," he says as he half-runs down the stairs. "So I'm gonna head out." A little too quickly, he begins to gather up his things.

"Gabriel, wait," Castiel says quickly. "I need to talk to you."

Gabriel stops and his fingers twitch against his car keys. "What about, champ?"

"Champ?" The word distracts him. "I'm not a scrawny ten-year-old anymore," he says, wrinkling the corners of his eyes.

"You weren't really ever a _scrawny_ ten-year-old," Gabriel sighs with a tight smile, though there's no hostility in his voice. "What's on your mind?"

Castiel narrows his eyes, studying Gabriel. He crosses his arms. "I have a favour to ask. It's about Sam."

"That so."

"His life support is becoming expensive," Castiel continues, watching his brother closely. "Right now it's around 80,000 dollars."

Gabriel whistles under his breath. "Damn, Sammy." He leans against the banister, eyebrows raised and lip quirked to the side, and is quiet for a moment.

His silence gives Castiel pause. With his brow furrowed, he backpedals. "Of course, I don't expect-" but Gabriel waves a hand, cutting him off.

"Ruining the moment, baby brother." Castiel's eyes flicker back down to the ground. "I dunno, Cas, $80,000 is a lot of dough. I could buy, like, 80,000 McNuggets with that."

Castiel squints in confusion. "… why would you want that many chicken nuggets?"

Gabriel tilts his head sympathetically, then sighs. "Look, I'll think about it," he promises, sounding somewhat defeated. "I just don't know if it'll do any good."

Castiel frowns as Gabriel begins to gather up his coat and keys again. "What do you mean?"

A little exasperated, Gabriel closes his eyes for a moment. "… seriously? You're serious?"

"I am serious, yes," Castiel confirms uncertainly.

Gabriel spins his keys around his index finger in agitation. "… oh for- you don't _really_ think that $80,000 and a little machine-generated oxygen is gonna fix the gaping hole in Sam's pumper?" He stops, swallowing. "You know what has to happen for precious baby Sam to get better." As if automatically, he reaches up and tucks the necklace underneath his shirt.

Castiel is quiet, and when Gabriel sees his expression, he softens. "Look, shortstack, I'm sorry. Okay? Just… put a lid on the kicked kitten thing." Castiel's eyes flicker to the ground. "… I should go. I'll, uh… fuck, just- I'll call," he sighs, escaping out the front door.

* * *

**The trick Gabriel pulls on Amy is something my cousin used to do to me and Castiel's annoyed reaction is also my annoyed reaction because even today, every time someone counts to ten, I get drowsy. It is amazingly inconvenient. ****Also I've just discovered the song A-Team by Ed Sheeran and it's a total headcanon that the song applies to Amy when she's a teenager but talking about that delves into spoiler territory, so let's not.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Whoops, back to Dean's POV. Just had to establish some stuff with Castiel (though it was refreshing writing him, so I'll probably do it again). Feedback on the clarity of these last 2 chapters would be appreciated. **

* * *

"_Your tests were positive. You're a match."_

_A match_. It was the flash word he'd been searching for in that phone call - the word that changed everything, made everything okay. All the way home, it rings in his head. It flashes behind his eyelids and itches at the tips of his fingers and pushes out of his shoulder blades like wings that make him want to fly. Even the rain and thunder outside can't stop him; he turns on the radio and rocks out at every stop light, when he doesn't have to concentrate on driving so much.

When he finally gets home, it's not quite night, but it's also not quite day; the perfect time to start working on the pool again. He pats Amy on the head, waves at Castiel, and heads straight out into the backyard with his tool belt. This time, Amy doesn't come out to watch him. She's occupied inside with Castiel and a surprise visitor Dean is pretty sure is Gabriel. His presence only gives Dean more incentive to stay out until he hears his car drive away.

It's a solid two hours until that happens, and by that time, night has fallen. Both Amy and Castiel are in bed when he goes inside, if not asleep, leaving the living room pleasantly void of all company; all company except the box that Dean keeps hidden under the couch cushions. Retrieving it is the first thing he does, pulling it out and letting his fingers lay against the hard red wood, the engraving _Winchester Limited _Edition carved into it.

Once it carried a set of three knives, given to him by Benny when Dean had returned from his tours. _"Figured you'd appreciate it,_" he'd said, "_being a bit of a Winchester limited edition yourself._" But now, it carries something sharper than knives - memories. There's only about three inches of wiggle room inside, but it's enough to hold everything Dean needs it to. He doesn't think of himself as a pack rat because he throws away everything he doesn't have a use for – old birthday letters, broken Christmas ornaments, bent spoons – but he does keep some things. He keeps pictures and keychains from people who mattered and memoirs from places he loved. There's a rusted bullet casing from the first gun he ever shot, his military dog tags, countless pictures that he can hardly stand to look at, and a worn, yellowed piece of paper with a phone number and the name 'Castiel' scribbled hastily in faded ink; and of course, the bracelet.

It was a plain chain bracelet with a silver, double-holed dog tag attached to it. He'd taken it off when he picked up Amy, fearing Garth, with all his legal background, would recognise it, and when Castiel had spontaneously decided to start cohabitating again, he hadn't ever put it back on. But at times like these, when he was concentrating so hard, he couldn't help himself. It jingles as he slides it over his wrist; _KANSAS,_ it reads. _DO-NOT-RESUSCITATE: DEAN WINCHESTER. _

He looks at it for a while, rolling the chain in his fingers, mulling it over. When he hears the bathroom door slam upstairs, he pulls down his sleeves to cover it, not wanting anyone to touch it, or know it's there. It's his little secret - and after all the secrets everyone else had been keeping from him, he thinks he deserves one of his own.


	12. Chapter 12

**Thanks to everyone for the reviews - especially a guest's rather frantic demand that Dean keep his ticker in his chest; nice to know my fic reduces someone to capslock ;)**

* * *

Years ago...

_When Dean finds the plane ticket, he's not sure what it means. It's stashed away in Sam's car, hidden in the glove box with the deed to the house and everything else Sam wants to keep safe and hidden. It's above Amy's birth certificate and underneath the worn prenup with thumb marks and dogged ears and all the signs that someone has been pouring over it with shaking for the past few months, alone in this very car._

_At first, he tries to rationalize it; maybe Sam couldn't swing a two-way ticket. Maybe it was some kind of present from Jess, or they just all bought tickets separately for a vacation (in the middle of January?). He tries to hide it away, bring it up later, but before he can stuff it back where it came from, Sam comes out of his house. Dean sits in the car, window rolled down, staring at his brother. _

"_I was looking for the keys." _

_Sam's panicking. Dean can tell. He recognises the way Sam licks his lips and forces himself to stick his hands in his pockets casually. He can see the cogs turning in Sam's brain - _maybe Dean doesn't know what it is. Maybe Dean didn't see.

_Dean opens the door and gets out of the car. "What the hell is this?" _

"_Dean, listen, it's not-"_

"_No, shut up, Sam. For once in your life be straight with me. What the hell is this?" _

_Sam's eyes flicker to the ground, resigned. "It's a plane ticket, Dean." _

"_To Canada? In the middle of January? One-way? Hidden away in your car-" he stops. _

_Sam purses his lips and nods._

_Dean's fist tightens around the ticket, crumpling the edges. "Sam…" he says, warning in his voice, but Sam cuts him off, sudden vigor flaring in his eyes. _

"_You know what, Dean?" he snaps. "Eat me. You don't know-"_

"_I don't _have_ to know! You have a kid, Sam!" _

"_She's not-!" Sam shut his eyes tightly. "Don't bring her into this, okay?" _

"_What, you think she's not already involved_ _in_ _this? You're her dad, Sam, and I won't let you _abandon_ her!"_

"_What if we hadn't grown up with dad?" _

_The question catches Dean off guard. "What?" _

"_Would it be better?" Sam asks, his smile bitter. "Being put in foster care? Knowing a bunch of meaningless people don't really care about you one way or the other - or knowing the one person who _should_ care about you _doesn't_?" _

_Dean is silent. The words make an impact. For what feels like the longest time, he stares at Sam unrelentingly, the anger and shock in his face plain; then before he can think, he snaps, curling his hand into a fist and hitting him. _

_Sam reels. He falls back, just barely catching himself. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn't have budged; but this was Dean. Tears spring to his eyes. _

_Breathing hard, Dean collects himself as he stands over his brother. "Damn it, Sam," he growls a little shakily. "She's your daughter. If you can't care about her, who_ can _you care about?" _


	13. Chapter 13

**Oops, that was a long hiatus. Apologies. **

* * *

Sam _did _care, but at the time, Dean didn't know it. Now, having had years and years to think over Sam's behavior - how strange it was, how uncharacteristic - he figures there was something he was missing. He doesn't know what, but he knows he doesn't care if he ever finds out, because all that matters now is fixing what he'd caused.

Dean is broken. He knows it, Castiel knows it, Gabriel knows it, and to some extent, even Amy knows it. Maybe that's why she smiles at him all the time but doesn't make eye contact and never asks twice when he says he can't play; and if even a child can tell, Dean wonders if there are many people who _can't_. He's the walking dead, his plan already laid out in the back of his mind, so set in concrete that he doesn't even have to think about it consciously anymore.

Being civil with Amy was never a part of that plan. Still, whatever negative emotions he harbors toward her don't include being homicidal, which is why, after the third time he almost has to replace his stove after Castiel nearly sets it on fire, Dean takes over the cooking.

At first, Castiel pretends to be a little insulted that his so-called 'cuisine' isn't up to par, but he drops the act pretty quickly once he has his first taste of Dean's hamburgers. Amy too begins to warm up to him more eagerly, enough that when Dean returns from work each day, she is often waiting for him at the kitchen table. They never speak past general greetings or an occasional monologue from Amy about something interesting that happened at school that day, but the silence is normally a comfortable one.

Today appears to be no different in either respect. Amy is, as usual, sitting at the table, which has become her go-to homework spot. She appears to be working on math, a pencil in one hand and a candy bar in the other.

"Hi Dean," she greets him. Dean lays his things on the counter and drops his keys in the little basket Castiel put on the coffee table.

"Hey, kiddo." He glances at the candy bar. "Is Gabriel here?"

"Nah."

Dean smiles agreeably. "So how was school? Didja have fun?"

Amy, her fingers sticky with chocolate, blinks at him for a minute, clearly surprised he's prompting the conversation. "It was okay," she answers finally.

"Only okay?"

She shrugs. Dean tears open the package of hamburgers he'd left out to thaw that morning.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"What's 'do not recusitate' mean?"

A patty slips out of his hand and flops onto the floor. It makes an uncomfortable sound that is no less uncomfortable than the silence it is breaking. He pulls his sleeve further over his wrist.

"You hear that at school?" Amy shakes her head. "Uh. It means do not read," he answers shortly. "Recus - resuscitate means to read."

Amy wrinkles her nose at him. Finally, she returns to her homework and candy bar. Dean visibly relaxes, peeling the stray patty off the floor and tossing it into the sink. He hurriedly arranges the remaining five on a plate and escapes out onto the porch a little quicker than necessary. When the door slides shut behind him, he makes sure to listen for the click of the latch before feeling comfortably alone.

Sighing, he opens the grill and sets the plate of burgers beside it. Muscle memory kicks in as he gives each of the knobs a turn and he glances at the pool, surveying his work. The water is clear, the filter is fixed, and the cracks in the concrete have been filled; all that remains for him to do is to fix the lighting and yet as he watches the wind ripple over its surface, he is overcome with a sudden feeling of guilt.

With a hiss, the last burner lights up and Dean shuts the lid, pushing away the emotion. He moves back toward a deck chair, ready to collapse, but before he can, he sees a movement out of the corner of his eye. His hands snap to his side and his head jerks around, ready to attack a lurker or shoo away a friendly neighbor; however, he quickly recognises the ruffled ducktail poking up behind the bushes.

He sighs. "I _will_ shoot you," he calls. "Don't sneak around like that."

Gabriel nearly trips on his own feet in surprise. The smile he gives Dean is vaguely guilty. "Sneaking? Who's sneaking? I was just taking a stroll, thought I'd see this pool thing Amy's been so excited about."

"Sure."

Gabriel gives him a bright smile that doesn't reach his eyes and takes a few more steps toward the pool. He kicks a piece of loose concrete out of place, earning a dirty look from Dean. "You haven't been doing much else except fixing up this pool," Gabriel comments, squatting down to try to replace the concrete. "You a swimmer?"

Dean snorts again. "No, you?" he asks mockingly.

"You kidding me? Nah, that was always baby bro's thing."

Dean blinks. "Castiel was on the swim team?"

"Huh." Gabriel snickers. "Wonder why he never told you that. It used to be all he bragged about." The concrete piece slides back into place and Gabriel stares at it for a moment before straightening, wiping his hands on his jeans. Dean watches him carefully, searching hopefully for any sign that he's going to leave soon. "Speakin' of the littlest soldier, he around?"

Dean sighs. "No," he answers tersely. He could explain in more detail that Castiel called earlier and mentioned he might not be home in time for dinner, but talking to Gabriel is a grating enough experience already without having to speak in sentences longer than four words, and he dreads opening more avenues for conversation.

Gabriel smiles. "Good. We gotta talk."

Dread turns into panic in Dean's stomach. He laughs shortly. "No we don't." Desperately looking for something to occupy him, he glances at the abandoned plate of burgers and snatches them up; but before he can take a step toward the grill, Gabriel bounds up the stairs and sways to a stop in front of him, blocking his path. Dean's hands fumble and the plate slides out of his hands.

Gabriel catches it before it can hit the ground, but he doesn't give it back. "Oh-ho, yes we do," he says, flipping the lid of the grill and snapping up the tongs before Dean can even think about reaching for them. Helplessly, he watches as Gabriel flips all six patties onto the grill. "You didn't even know Cas was on the swim team. What else don't you know, Dean-o?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Gabriel doesn't answer him directly. "Did you know Cas skipped a grade in elementary school?" he asks, turning to face him.

"What is this, twenty questions?" Dean gripes. Gabriel rolls his eyes. "No, I didn't know that. So wh-" but Gabriel cuts him off.

"Did you know he and Anna are the first twins in our family?"

Dean sighs. "No."

"Did you know his first word was sorry?"

"No."

"Did you know he used to be terrified of needles?"

"_No,_" Dean growls with exasperation. "Does it _matt_-"

"Did you know that when Cas met you, he'd just been released from seven months in a psychiatric ward because he tried to hang himself?"

The sizzling of the grill is the only thing that breaks the silence that follows.

"What do you want, Gabriel?" Dean asks eventually, his voice lowered. "What do you expect me to do?"

Gabriel sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I don't know, Dean, maybe spare us all the ABC Family angst and _get over it?_"

The words are like a punch to the gut. "Get over it?" Dean repeats scathingly. "_Get over it?_ Sammy's in a _hospital_, he's _dying_, and-" he chokes on his words, unable to continue. He covers his mouth with his hand, taking a few deep breaths. "And it's your fault," he finishes darkly.

For once, Gabriel is silent. Then he abruptly lets go of the grill lid. It slams shut. When Gabriel speaks again, his voice is just barely a whisper.

"Your dinner is burning."

Dean's eyes flicker up to Gabriel's, and he thinks he sees, just for a second, something beyond anger; but before Dean can pinpoint it, Gabriel's gone. Seconds later, Dean hears a car start and violently drive away, wheels squealing against the pavement. They leave only silence and the distant smell of smoke behind them.


End file.
